The Natural Mother
All the soft moon bends over,
poetry
Evening
he walked
Beaver Pond
Not furred nor wet, the pointing words yet make
Song for a Very New Witch
Out of this moment's burning
Tant que mes yeux pourront larmes espandre . . .
So long as eyes can weep, so long as thinking
Summer: Wish
To know loving you cool
Lucky Shot
The birds went capering away in crowds.
The Heart has no Generalities
See that star, Venus? It's
Night Conquers Me . . .
Night conquers me with delicate numbness and slow,
Circles
Would Saturn's rings be apt to slip a cog
Pages
Current Issue: No. 302
